


Inside this heart of mine

by erde



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Mutual Pining, Overthinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-25 21:22:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13843296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erde/pseuds/erde
Summary: Steve wants to be all over Tony in public, but doesn't quite dare.





	Inside this heart of mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mrsgingles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsgingles/gifts).



> For this lovely, lovely [piece](http://mrsgingles.tumblr.com/post/162801685915/waiting-for-the-last-train-home) by mrsgingles, as part of the Art/Fic Madness Challenge.
> 
> Title from Afterglow by Ásgeir.

In a way, they were yesterday's news. It's what made things easier. They blended into the crowd as if they were nameless, only a few curious looks aimed their way, the snap of a cellphone camera here and there, and then nothing else.

"The novelty's worn off," Tony had said in answer to that, shaking his head, amusement dripping from his voice as he nibbled Steve's earlobe. They couldn't compete with an impending royal wedding, not when the groom was a superhero himself and the bride might as well have been one.

"It's what it is," Steve had replied, turning to press a smile against Tony's jaw, and then a breathless little gasp.

 

 

Back in the day, they confirmed the rumors through an exclusive for a well-known magazine. The week before that, a tabloid had released the _bombshell,_ a handful of candids where nothing was explicit and yet everything was implied—the closeness, the way they smiled, the ease with which Steve slipped into Tony's personal space and Tony looked for all the world like he didn't mind. _Superhero rift a thing of the past,_ they had printed in a loud yellow he could read a block away from the newsstand. 

They had been so careful before.

A part of Steve was starting to get fed up with being careful. Maybe that was the reason why they got caught.

 

 

First came the interview, then the photoshoot. There were lights, make-up, props, coffee and pastries with red, white, and blue sprinkles for the taking, Tony kissing his cheek and interlacing their fingers for the sake of others' eyes. The staging of something real.

"People love that kind of thing," Tony had said as if this were an idea he had to pitch to Steve. He was standing in front of the mirror, pretending to do his tie instead of looking at him. "We don't have to, though. It's enough if we—"

"I can do it," Steve had blurted, and that wasn't right. That was the kind of thing you said when you actually meant _If I must, if I have no other choice._ He took a breath and stood beside him, picking Tony's tie between his fingers before he pressed his lips against the lines of his forehead. "I want to."

 

 

There were five copies of the issue on the coffee table. Tony took one and held it away from him, eyes askance. "The commodification of our relationship," he said with a smirk, and then, "Sorry."

But Steve had seen him perusing the pages before, the wistful kind of look he had on his face as he slid one finger across the glossy spread.

Steve sat next to him on the couch and wrapped his arms around him. "Well," he said, pointing at one of the photos, "I love how we look here."

"Yeah?" Tony asked.

Steve hummed a yes into his hair.

"You look like you want to have your way with me," Tony said.

Steve laughed, a sliver of warmth coiling tight in his chest, wreaking havoc. "It's an accurate portrayal, then."

They looked so happy. Steve, in particular, looked elated.

Holding his hand _had_ been a joy. It wasn't pretense. Steve didn't get to do that often, at least not with an audience in mind. Public displays of affection made people uncomfortable, he had once told Natasha, and Tony had assumed this to hold true even now, even if it was _him,_ Tony, who made it all different.

Still, Steve hadn't corrected him. What they had allowed the world to see was enough, surely.

(No, no, it wasn't.)

 

 

Steve had been waiting for things to develop naturally before everything came to light. Maybe they weren't that kind of couple to begin with, even though he secretly hoped they were because he'd never had this and now he lived in a time when he could have it, simply walking side by side, holding hands.

There were days when he wanted something like that V-Day kiss on Time Square he hadn't been around to witness, even though, if he had to be honest with himself, he didn't think he'd actually dare; days when he wanted to slip a hand into the back pocket of Tony's jeans and then worried whether that would be crass.

He was determined to get over himself and just _do something,_ except that right afterwards he would ask himself if this was about proving people wrong, whoever these _people_ were and whatever _wrong_ was supposed to mean in this case, if it was about making a statement. Still, Steve _wanted._ It's just that it was easier when it was behind closed doors, just the two of them.

He had asked Tony once, "Do I strike you as shy?"

Tony had snorted, straight up laughed in his face. Steve had all but ripped Tony's shirt moments ago, he had Tony against a wall, lifting him up as Tony wrapped his legs around Steve's waist.

Steve was ridiculous.

"Don't worry about it too much. It's fine," Tony had said later, dropping a kiss on Steve's brow before he settled on the pillows.

Steve wanted to say _I'm sorry I'm awkward_ and _it's not you, it's—how could it ever be you if I'm lucky to have you_ and _please,_ and all that came out was, "I really do love you."

Tony looked at him, eyes so very bright before he masked it all with a nonchalant little sniff and a quirk of his lips. "I know." 

Steve smiled and felt relieved because that meant Tony believed it, because Steve had said it first and the knowledge had stuck.

After they turned off the lights, after Steve scooted closer so that he could hold Tony and Tony held Steve's hand against his heart, Steve wondered if it really was fine.

 

 

And now they were overseas, winding down after a successful officially sanctioned mission. They were away from home and Tony was still erring on the side of caution, pressing his fingers against the pulse point on Steve's wrist so very gently, saying _look,_ and pointing in the direction of an old-fashioned art supply store.

In return, Steve smiled and pressed his fingers to the small of Tony's back, counting it as a great achievement because he was a _fool,_ as if he hadn't done exactly this right after they called a truce on the game of chicken they were playing in the helicarrier.

It had been different then. It had been easy. His heart hadn't sped up the way it did now, whenever they were close.

 

 

After they did their share of shopping and had everything delivered to the apartment where they were staying for a few days, they roamed around the city. They let a cab pass them by and kept walking as they always meant to do in New York but rarely did; they spent hours in a café with a view, chatting, laughing, passing the time, sitting close enough to bump their knees together under the table.

Steve placed his hand on Tony's thigh, tentative. Tony raised an eyebrow, and then, holding the menu before them so that no one else could see, he batted his eyelashes and puckered his lips ever so slightly.

They kissed on an alley a few blocks away from the café.

 

 

The sky turned shades of yellow and orange and pink, and then blue, and they walked straight ahead until the streetlights lit the elegant façades at each side of the road. They went to a club where they booked a private room, an expanse of velvety, cushioned luxury all for themselves, where they slow-danced. The lights pooled on the hollow of Tony's throat, followed the perfect curve of his exposed neck.

"Steve," Tony breathed.

It always was such a thrill, to hear his name spoken like that.

 

 

At last, they stumbled into the metro, going down the flight of stairs and walking into a maze of underground paths that Steve studied on a billboard for a couple of minutes before he figured out which train would bring them back home to a warm bed.

Not far away from him, Tony stifled a yawn.

Steve brought the tip of his fingers against Tony's nape, drawing circles, and said, warmth seeping through his voice and making him sound a little rough, "You're dead on your feet."

Tony leaned into the touch, just like that. "Am not."

Feeling emboldened, Steve wrapped an arm around Tony's shoulders, pulled him closer. Tony sighed and let his temple rest against Steve's collarbone. "You should've said you were tired."

"Mm, I just enjoy being with you. Sue me," Tony said, and because he was sleepy and less discreet than he would have been otherwise, he held onto Steve's waist.

Steve thought, _Yes, good,_ and then he wondered whether people were staring, and then he thought, _What the hell do I care?_

He risked a glance anyway, half self-conscious, half defiant. There were few people at this hour of the day, none of them paying attention. Someone looked up, saw them, smiled, and went back to their phone.

"Is this a thing we do now?" Tony asked, voice muffled against the fabric of Steve's t-shirt.

Feeling his cheeks heat up, Steve stood straighter, stuffed one hand in his pocket to look casual, and cleared his throat. "Do you want it to be a thing?"

"Do you?"

"If it takes longer than ten minutes, I'm carrying you on my back," Steve said.

Tony chuckled and almost purred, "Is that a yes."

The train was still a distant rumble, a humming whine, but soon it would be casting pockets of light and shadow along the platform.

Steve closed his eyes and breathed in the soft citrusy scent of Tony's shampoo. "Yeah," he said, stroking his cheek with the pad of his thumb. "It's a thing we do."


End file.
